


honey, say you’re mine (my forever valentine)

by stevebuckiest



Series: skirt steve [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (boys meaning Steve), Baking, Body Image, Boys in Skirts, Bucky Barnes In A Crop Top, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Eyeliner, Fluff, Horribly Romantic, M/M, Nail Polish, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romantic Gestures, Valentine's Day, basically this is just their valentine’s day and how they get ready for it, god i wish it were ME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: “I love you.” Those three little words- they still haven’t stopped feeling big, even by now. Steve doesn’t suppose they ever will, with how many wars and wounds they had to go through to get to say them. “Buck?”“Yeah, sweetheart?” Bucky’s breath is warm where it tickles against his skin.Steve smiles sleepily and shoulders the blankets up so that when he rolls up to lay halfway on top of Bucky, they’re both tucked into a space just for two. He touched their foreheads together, words a stage whisper. “You gonna be my Valentine?”(alternatively: steve and bucky spend valentine’s day holed up together. this is the before, during, and fade to black after)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: skirt steve [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918360
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	honey, say you’re mine (my forever valentine)

**Author's Note:**

> i have commisioned lovely art for this piece found on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/stevebuckiest/status/1357810942382325762?s=21) & tumblr [here](https://stevebuckyinc.tumblr.com/post/642318072983781376/link-for-my-valentines-day-fic-found-here-thank) created by inflomora whose socials are linked on each post! feel free to reblog/retweet because god knows the world needs more of canon bucky in crop tops and steve in skirts.

When Steve first got out of the ice- now awake and more alone than ever- things had been _different,_ to say the least.

Not just his surroundings, although that had definitely been the most obvious difference he picked up on during his first few days back from the dead. Moreso, the problem was… people. Pretty much everything and every _one_ was different, including Steve himself. Or at least that was the conclusion all the change had led him to come to, because while he was asleep, maybe he hadn’t changed much as a person, but as he said- people were the problem. And most of his peers don’t really consider _Steve_ to be one of those anymore. A person, that is. Nowadays, he’d say he’s more of a paragon. At least to them. 

Steve Rogers died going down with the _Valkyrie_ (maybe even before that, considering how he’d stopped feeling anything the day Bucky fell from the train) _._ Captain America- well. His was the only legacy to really carry on. With less and less people alive over time who knew Steve or even _Cap_ when he was awake, Steve supposes it was easy for everyone to get carried away with the _myth_ that took over the man who was no longer around. Make him cooler, more charismatic. Charged up. _Changed._

Yeah, people had changed while Steve was asleep alright, even more than they had during the shift into the war. Seventy years is a long time to sleep.

It’s just funny, or maybe a little bittersweet- when he woke up and got _caught_ up in what was apparently the new century… well, he hadn’t expected that he’d be changed too.

To an extent, he knows now (and knew back then, even if he didn’t want to admit it) that a certain level of change was inevitable with what he’d been through both before and after being defrosted. All those years he slept may have been nothing more than a good night's rest to him, but that doesn’t mean his mind neglected to carry over just how he’d gotten fallen into that… _sleep_ in the first place. 

Nothing would have been able to get him to forget sinking that ship down into the Arctic. Steve should know, considering how hard he had tried. What else did he have to do that first year out of the ice? Wasn’t like he had much else to want or to do, although like most things he wanted- those wishes hadn’t been able to come true. He’d done a lot of wishing in the first while, too. 

He hadn’t woken up wildly different than he used to be, more _confused_ than _changed._ Cornered, caged in, captured- he’d been a lot of things, but confused most of all. Confused, with a lot of questions.

_Who are you? Where am I?_

_How am I alive?_

He’d gotten answers, albeit partial ones at best, but the big picture had been pretty clear even with how muddled everything else in the moment was. They didn’t save him or want him around because he was _Steve._ No, they saved him because he was a soldier. Wanted him at SHIELD because they knew that that’s what soldiers did- they served. 

That’s what _Captain America_ did, no matter what the cost.

That was the change Steve had found himself (still finds himself) caught up in, even above what he’d been through, what other changes being in a new century alone was going to bring. He was no longer _Steve Rogers_ to all the people around him, was no longer a person who had just been put through horrible things- he was bigger than that now, even while the rest of him inside felt like it was being reduced down to something and someone apparently no one wanted to see. 

Again, to an extent- he knew what that felt like even before his conditions saw him knocked to the next century. He’d gone from being a skinny, scrawny kid that nobody wanted to see, besides Bucky and his Ma, God rest her soul, to something- some _one-_ that had eyes on them all the time. Whether he be knocking a fake Nazi out on stage to save the day or doing that very thing in real life to serve his country like he’d intended when he took the serum in the first place. 

People have always seen him differently since the serum, which is something he’d fought against even when he found himself fighting literally on the front. He’d been no stranger to feeling uncomfortable in his own skin or disconnected from his own body, had worked out plenty of ways back in Brooklyn to try and keep that from being the case. Through more than just getting into fights, contrary to popular belief. But people so suddenly raising their standards for him from a nobody not worth the time of day to a national icon meant to reflect the perfect alpha male had had an effect on him. It made him feel just as out of control as he’d felt when he was frail. 

That had been a feeling he’d tried to combat even while _in_ combat- there hadn’t been much he could do with how crowded and cramped conditions were where he was, but Bucky had helped just by reassuring him he was still real, still seen. Still _Steve._ Because that’s what Bucky does no matter where they are. Sees him, that is. 

Steve hadn’t been able to necessarily do the things he would have done in order to stay settled in his skin if he’d been back home, but Bucky had had his back and helped him sort it out, and he’s more _home_ to Steve than any ratty apartment building back in Brooklyn had been anyways. Always has been. As long as Bucky was (and now _is_ again) by his side, Steve knew things would be okay in the end. He knew _someone_ still saw him. 

But waking up without Bucky...well, that had been on a whole new level. Without him- Steve had exactly no one who saw him left- and even when it came to himself, that sight was something that was slipping away with every day he spent waiting and wishing after he woke up. 

While sleeping, he hadn’t been Steve. Steve Rogers died in the eyes of the world when taking that plane down into the cold, died in the eyes of himself when watching the cold take Bucky down weeks before that. He’d sunk down as Steve. He’d slept as Steve. But waking up- Captain America was all that was thought to be left. Steve had been so tired at the time that trying to be anything _but_ that...that took something he didn’t have, not back then. Something that had him wishing he could go right back to sleep again. 

It had taken a year for the world to call upon Captain America again, a year that Steve spent mostly wandering and wondering, abstaining from visiting Peggy or allowing himself anything that connected him to what had been pushed into becoming his past life. That year is now one of what Steve considers to be the worst of his life, but now he wonders if it was worth it- because coming out the other side, it had taken that year to nudge Steve back into calling upon himself again as well. _Himself,_ himself. Not the version wearing the cowl or rescuing children from aliens in alleyways, and _definitely_ not the version that had come out when he was getting goaded on by someone who was apparently Howard’s son. 

_Everything special about you came out of a bottle._ Steve won’t give Stark the credit of helping him over something that had only been said with the intention to sting. He won’t be giving Stark credit for _anything_ the first couple times they met, truth be told, even if Tony’s gotten somewhat better- but that remark had dredged up something in Steve he’d been ignoring since stumbling out of sleep. Something he’d been letting slip by him for that entire damn _year_ he’d let himself wander and waste away. 

Everything special about him doesn’t come from the serum. Steve knows this. Erskine had told him as much, and it’s a sentiment- _the_ sentiment- that Steve has tried to carry with him ever since. _Not a perfect soldier, but a good man._ He knew that, even if he needed it knocked back into him. Stark’s bullshit claims- they had only served as a reminder, one that told Steve the serum _wasn’t_ what made him special, but also told him that what the serum had helped him become was all that the world now seemed to be able to see. 

Steve… Steve had fallen into that as well, for far too long, but without any of the people, places, or things he was used to having to help hold him down...he doesn’t suppose many people could blame him for being a bit overwhelmed. That is, if they bothered seeing him for himself at all. Getting swept away was just so _easy_ in comparison to trying to be someone who had already lost so much. Losing himself seemed like the better option, for a while. 

The Battle of New York helped wake him up from that. Being surrounded by so many people who saw him as someone so different than who he had signed up to be- Stark, Coulson, Fury, even _Natasha_ at the time- left him feeling sick to his stomach. Was that who he was now? Who he was expected to be for the rest of whatever life the serum would allow him to live?

Things after that had changed again. For the better, second time around, because this time it was Steve’s choosing of who he wanted to be, how close he wanted to get to what he was- Captain America could have his legacy. Steve Rogers deserved to have a _life_ outside that, even if it wasn’t the one he originally wanted to live. Even if it was one he still struggled to want to stay in from time to time after that when things got too tough or too lonely. 

He’s doing a lot better nowadays, whatnot with work, his friends, with _Bucky_ back- but he can admit what went on back then was hard. He can admit sometimes it’s still hard. That’s part of what marks him as doing better. 

After waking up from the ice, it wasn’t just the mental and material parts of him that saw a change, it was parts of his physicality as well. Fury had told him they didn’t know how he made it through sleeping all that time unscathed. Steve hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he hadn’t, though he’s sure now that SHIELD’s medical staff must have told him something was amiss with the way Steve’s hands shook and he was wracked with full body shivers for periods of time that no one seemed to be able to predict. 

Everything had been cold for so long. That was a constant that Steve’s body- even with the serum- didn’t seem to be able to just vanish away. Whether it was physical or merely mental at first or not, it hadn’t stopped happening for a long while, well past the Battle of New York. The shivering thankfully slowed down to occurrences mostly when Steve was stressed or in his own space (he hadn’t looked forward to Stark’s inevitable bottle rocket jokes lest he ever saw) but the shaking is something that still plagues him to this day on occasion. 

Maybe it’s mental (some of it has to be, according to what his therapist has said). Maybe it’s not. All Steve knew then is that the only thing he seemed to be able to do reliably without the tremor giving him trouble was hold his shield. The shakes seemed to stop when he was serving his purpose as the super soldier they all expected him to be, but as soon as that was all said and done- they started again, like a switch in his brain gone off. 

It was something he was ashamed of. He took to keeping his hands shoved in jacket pockets while walking or tucked against his sides like a hug to keep himself warm whenever he crossed his arms, not wanting anyone to see. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to see it either. That was yet another thing that made trying to be himself so hard- the shivering and shaking went away when he was Captain America, when he had something to focus on and keep him strong. Being Steve Rogers… Steve had never necessarily been the best at letting himself be soft. 

He’d tried soon after the Chitauri invasion to slip back into some of those old habits he’d had before the war. Sketching, making himself (and formerly Bucky) meals, hitting the punching bag down at the gym the way Bucky had taught him. That last one hadn’t helped his hands much, but it gave them a different reason to shake that he could at least excuse with exhaustion or fatigue. Sketching, on the other hand- the first time he’d tried after Tony’s remarks, he’d gotten so frustrated by the awkwardness that just wouldn’t seem to go _away_ that he’d called it quits only an hour in by hurling the sketchbook he was holding against the wall across from the couch. 

The first few weeks he’d started to try and take himself back had been spent fumbling alone in his apartment trying to do normal tasks he was used to that somehow now felt overwhelming, hands shaky with the baseline coldness that just wouldn’t seem to go away no matter how hard Steve tried to warm himself up and get back to who he used to be. Some parts of that were too painful to try again alone, even if they were only done for himself in the first place- but Steve was trying, he really was. 

It was only about three weeks into all that _trying_ that he had another revelation, this time about maybe instead trying something _new._

He’d been walking back home from the gym after a round of boxing, hands still wrapped up to help heal where the knuckles had split, deciding to stop in at the drugstore on the corner to pick up some antiseptic to apply just in case. He didn’t need to run the risk of damaging his hands permanently, not when he already had the tremor to worry about already. Not sure exactly where to find said antiseptic (back in the day, he wouldn’t have been able to get it off the street in the first place) but also not wanting to ask for help- lest the worker recognize him even with his hat and hood on- he’d chosen to browse a bit in hopes of finding what he needed along the way. 

That was how he found himself in the back corner of the cosmetics aisle, cap pulled low and arms locked across his chest so people wouldn’t see him staring at the selection of cheap nail polish sitting in neat rows down below on the shelf in front of him. 

There had been nail polish around back when he and Bucky grew up, but it was reserved mostly for flappers and what were deemed _good time gals_ (and then of course in the circles the two of them tended to run in, the queens as well when they were performing). It wasn’t really a paint Steve had much experience with himself, all other things considered when it came to things like that. Some of the girls Bucky had brought around back before they got their shit together between them had worn it- mostly roses, reds, and oranges, the odd peacock green if they were daring (and most of the dames Bucky brought back to their place were) but Steve had never really dwelled on it much past the passing thought it was pretty. He was too stuck on feeling jealous that their hands were on Bucky in the first place to be focused on what was going on with their nail beds. 

But in that drug store, there were no dames around. No Bucky, either, but that was something Steve tried not to think about when there were other people around to see the tears well up. And Steve- well, he was very focused on the nail polish that moment indeed. 

Like he said, there were things he had done back in the forties with Bucky and by himself to help feel more at home, more in control of his body, both before when he was sick and after when he had gotten the serum. But while some of them had been close- none of them had been _this._

He’d stood there stock-still for about five minutes, staring and trying to make up his mind, both about what color he wanted and whether he wanted to do this at all. He knew it wasn’t a scary move, or even really a big one- he’d done scarier and bigger things before- but something about it had felt heavy, although he was used to feeling that all the time after waking up. Even after deciding to start trying to be himself, be _Steve_ again rather than just Cap, he had been weary. 

Weary or not, he had eventually come to a decision, although it may have been more because of the worker throwing him suspicious glances rather than any stop put to the war going on inside his brain. He ended up grabbing a cheap bottle of shell pink, fairly close to the natural color of his nails. It wasn’t much, but making his way home, it had felt like a lot. 

It had felt like even more a week later when he finally mustered up the courage to pull it out from where he’d stashed it in the bathroom cabinet immediately after getting home from buying it in the first place. He wasn’t _scared_ of it, not exactly, but...he needed to work his nerve up. Give himself some time. Because apparently he had plenty of that, now. 

But he wanted it, when it came down to it. Wanted to try and give this to himself, explore whoever that was or may be in the new century, because sometimes- even after getting his senses back- it felt like (and still can feel like to this day) Steve Rogers as a person was being swept away and lost to the legacy of _Captain America._ More myth than man. Steve didn’t want that to happen.

He signed up to help people, not even really intending to be a hero- and definitely not intending on having himself lost to the persona that other people had picked out for him. 

Having _this-_ something private and new, even as silly as it might have sounded considering it was just nail polish- felt important in a way he hadn’t had since Bucky had last been able to hold him and help reassure that what they had back in Brooklyn was real, that they could have it again. That hadn’t worked out wholly, but it had in those moments they were able to have alone together. Bucky needed the reminders just as bad as Steve- he may have seen Steve, but that didn’t mean everything being so far and foreign on the front didn’t cause him to sometimes lose sight of himself. Steve always tried to hold him back just as tight. 

So, yeah. The nail polish might have been something small, something silly if anyone ever found out he had it for himself- at that time, Steve was still seen as a stuffy old man even by the rest of his team, too much of a _virile man_ to own a bottle of nail varnish- but it was also something special, at least to Steve, the only one who ever knew about it, at least until Bucky came back around. 

Back before then- Steve wasn’t ready to bare himself with how uncertain he still was without Bucky or anything he had ever known, and even without being ashamed- there are still things he wants to keep for himself, keep with his loved ones. Alone in 2012, Steve didn’t have much of anything _or_ anyone. 

Painting his nails was something personal. Something private, like Steve was finding himself to be. He just wanted to make sure he _knew_ himself still, saw himself the same as Bucky always did, afraid of getting swept away in the shadow of his own skin with the crushing weight of the world’s view of _Captain America._

People forget- hell, sometimes Steve forgets- that they see he’s been Captain America for seventy years longer than he actually was, because adding it all up together from getting the serum to where he is today- for him, it’s only been about seven. Steve has had the serum about as long as he’d lived without Sarah before the war even started. 

Back when he found himself sat on his bed with the bottle of polish laid on a towel in front of him, it had been less than three. Looking back, Steve doesn’t have to wonder anymore why he felt so lost. He’d barely had time to learn himself again before his life got put on pause for the better part of a century. 

But on that bed with the polish in hand… learning himself was exactly the intention. He might not have been able to have what he used to or even really been in a place to try and replicate it- but he could have that. He could have that little sense of self, shaky hands and sadness for what used to be damned. 

He could have it, but actually going through with it had been an ordeal unto itself. He had been an artist (and is now again) but holding a brush- let alone one of this sort- had been at that point unfamiliar even after how many years of practice he had under his belt prior to the war, not to mention now shaky his hands had gone from the nerves even aside from the cold that was still creeping quiet under his skin. 

He had done it, though. _It_ being painting his nails, albeit only after about half an hour of pensive thought he spent most of trying to psych himself up in the first place. He settled on doing those on his feet rather than his fingers, if not only for the reason he wanted to keep this tiny, pretty comfort for himself (because Captain America wearing nailpolish would have been a shitshow and a half back then before people got a better idea of who Steve Rogers actually was) but also because he had wanted it to be just that- _pretty._ And the scabbed over split knuckles he’d been sporting at the time were anything but. 

The end result of it all was arguably still a little less than sightly because of all the shaking, but the mere knowledge that Steve was still _Steve,_ had this little snatched back piece piece of himself tucked safe in his boots- whether they were the ones he wore on walks or ones he wore with his uniform while saving the city- was more than enough to make the ordeal worth it. 

Besides, even as unsteady as his hands had been and still were sometimes after that- _he’d_ felt a little bit steadier after, himself. Safer in his body, more secure in a way that ached with how both familiar it was and how foreign it had become with all that Steve had lost after Bucky’s fall. Being comfortable in his body was one thing. Being comfortable in himself...well, that was another. One he had taken for granted when he pushed the responsibility of that away. 

He’d kept pushing after that, even with the polish and private things, at least publicly to the people who he didn’t want to know or want to know _him._ It had taken a pretty long time in terms of loneliness, but eventually he had let Natasha nudge closer, had met Sam, even Sharon- and then, of course, there was Bucky. Back from what the world had presumed to be his death. 

Yeah, Steve wasn’t the only one the world had a warped view on after all. He should have known it. Bucky never was much for letting him stick things out on his own. 

_I can get by on my own_ , Steve had once told him, back when he was tired and thin and so tense from missing his Ma that he’d wanted to crawl right out of his own skin to be with her again. 

It had gotten him a tentative smile, a touch that was so gentle it took everything in Steve to keep from collapsing right into his arms. Bucky’s answer hadn’t made that urge any easier to resist. _The thing is, you don’t have to._

_Because I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

Steve had swallowed down both his tears and pride after that, nodding and letting Bucky usher him inside so they could take the moment they both knew they couldn’t if any other eyes were on him. Missing his Ma hadn’t gotten any easier, not by a mile, but letting Bucky hug him, even shush him and stroke his hair the way that usually would have been hard to accept- well, having Bucky there helped, is all, kept him from going too far away in his head. Pretty things and painting aside- Bucky’s touch has always been what settles Steve into his skin best. 

And now, after all these years, he’s back to do just that. He’s more haunted, holds himself a little heavier (not that Steve can blame him after what he’s been through), but above all, he’s come _home-_ home, being as always, here with Steve. 

That’s exactly where he is right now. With Steve, that is, sitting criss cross beside him on their living room couch and squeezing one of Steve’s ankles close with his flesh hand while he holds the brush he’s using with the other to paint his boyfriend’s nails on the night before Valentine’s Day in preparation for their plans tomorrow. 

Just another quiet evening in for them, really. 

Where Steve finds himself at on the other end of the couch, ankles stretched out and arms flexed to curl around his bent up knees so he can hold steady and peer down to watch Bucky paint- well, it’s a lot different than where he’d been at the first time he had done this alone, mentally and physically. The major difference obviously being that he _is_ no longer alone. He’s got Bucky here humming and happy to prove that. 

Steve is happy too. Wholly, this time. 

The process isn’t taking place in the bedroom this time around, either- after the first instance of Steve doing this alone, he’d figured out that the polish fumes gave him a headache if he was shut up in a room too long with them, so he took to doing it in the bathroom instead (at least after he finally got the nerve up to try it out for himself again). Although- this isn’t really just for himself, not anymore. It’s for Bucky too, in a way. 

It isn’t the first time Bucky’s done this with him since he got back from his brief stint in Wakanda where the princess- _Shuri,_ Steve remembers- helped set him up with a new prosthetic arm and patched up mind to boot. Well, mostly patched up. There’s no amount of science to take care of problems as painful and personal as what Bucky had been through at Hydra’s hands. Just like Steve, he’s had to find his own ways to get settled back in his skin. 

That’s part of the reason for where they are right now. Bucky’s doing more than just lending a helping hand- he’s using that hand to help himself as well. 

Bucky’s new prosthetic is a far step up from the one he had been saddled with before- for one, it wasn’t seared to his side by the people who tortured and turned him into a killing machine. In fact, this model is detachable, easy enough to shed and set to the side on days that Bucky feels comfortable enough to go without it. It had taken a long time for him to get comfortable with having a prosthetic in the first place Wakandan or otherwise, Steve knows, let alone be vulnerable enough to take it off. 

That’s what the painting is supposed to help with on his end- getting comfortable with the new arm, that is. Bucky’s had it for a few months, but Steve knows better than anyone that time doesn’t exactly heal all wounds, especially when it comes to matters of the mind. Bucky’s still getting used to handling himself with said new hand. It’s high tech (Shuri is much smarter than Stark, although _Steve_ is smart enough not to go around telling people that) but having some awkwardness getting acquainted with it is only natural. 

Like Steve getting used to being awake and living in his new body- Bucky’s had a limited amount of time to get used to living in his right mind with the loss of an arm. He might remember his times at Hydra and learned how to be the Asset with the arm- but he’s not had too terribly long to learn how to be Bucky Barnes without it. Just like Steve when it comes to the Captain America moniker. 

Dexterity is something that he’s been down about being yet to master- fear of hurting Steve yet again with this new arm is something that runs deep, though not as deep as the fear of hurting Steve again in general. He’s been practicing with it, similar to how Steve had with his own problems with his hands (though obviously for wildly different reasons), taking up things like cooking and crocheting to learn how to do small tasks like chop vegetables and create soft things with his metal hand as well as his flesh. 

Painting Steve’s nails, among other things he does in his own right for himself, is just another one of those things he does to help that process out. Steve’s more than happy to be his test subject- after all, Bucky’s done the same for him in the past and the present when it comes to posing. 

Having happy, healthy coping mechanisms together is something Steve is more than grateful for. Having Bucky here at _all_ is more than good enough- but, well, he can admit he’s glad that Bucky’s presence makes baring parts of himself he’d missed a lot easier to partake in than the mere thought of that had been when he was living (if that’s what you can call it) on his own.

Bucky’s expression is concentrated, fixed on where Steve’s foot is tilted up and pressed against the cap of his own knee through his sweats. There’s a towel on the cushion between them, but Bucky’s movements are precise enough now for that to be a mere precaution. He’s getting better, at this and in general. 

Steve tells him as much for the first part, encouragement coming out earnest enough to make Bucky pause his humming to huff. “You’re pretty good at all this painting business, Buck. You been practicing on other models or something?” He’s joking. For now, this is something they only share with each other. 

Bucky swipes on another layer of polish, smoothing it out before lightening up his focus enough to respond. “You’re the artist around here, Rogers.” Then, lifting his head up to give Steve a wink, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Don’t ever have to worry about me stepping out on someone like you.”

Steve smiles, and has to keep from wiggling his toes with how wide it goes. “Someone like me, huh?”

Bucky blows out a breath over the nail he’s just finished painting before squeezing Steve’s ankle with his flesh hand so he can answer again. “That’s right. Real looker. Best one in all of Brooklyn since I can remember.” 

That last addition is a bit of a stretch- Bucky’s gotten pretty good at recalling general facts about their past when it comes to them and their families, but specifics further than that can still be a bit tricky. 

Steve appreciates the sentiment, though, smiling again and leaning forward enough to prop his chin on the tops of his knees. He might be big now, but tucking himself up like this is still second nature, as second nature as what words come out of his mouth next. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

Bucky snorts and moves on to the next nail. “Well, it is Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Don’t tell me you forgot. That’s more _my_ thing.”

“Don’t think I can forget that when that’s why you’re painting my nails in the first place.” Steve rolls his eyes. “‘Sides, I remember. Got my outfit picked out for tomorrow and everything.” That’s true. He does. They have plans, after all. 

Bucky already knows this of course, but he still pretends not to just to push at Steve’s buttons. Because he’s a _jerk,_ but Steve knows this and loves him anyway. “Do you now? Something pretty for me, I hope.”

Two can play at that game. “For _me,_ ” Steve corrects. “And you, I suppose. Since it is a holiday, and all.”

“And I _am_ the love of your life.” Bucky matches his tone with the good natured mocking, grinning up at Steve while pausing to dip more polish back on his brush. 

In truth, the outfit Steve has picked out is more than a little for Bucky as well as just for himself. Steve’s not necessarily _fashionable_ by most people’s standards on a day to day outside the house- though he’s gotten better with finding clothes that fit thanks to Natasha’s help- but finding clothes he likes is fun. And they won’t actually be leaving the house for tomorrow’s plans anyways. 

It’s the first Valentine’s Day they’ve really been able to celebrate in this century- as a _couple_ in the eyes of the rest of the world instead of just their own, too, which is something Steve still struggles to wrap his mind around sometimes. It’s nice, not having to hide.

Still, with that being said, neither of them are very keen on the idea of sharing tomorrow with the whole world, either- because God knows sometimes they still get stared at just for walking down the street half the time if they’re doing as much as holding hands- so when Bucky had suggested they dress up and dine in on a pseudo date in their home instead, Steve had been right on board. 

They’d wanted to make a day of it seeing as Valentine’s Day is on a Sunday this year, but as usual- some form of duty calls. There’s no promised days off for people like them, but Bucky had been planning on kicking Steve out at some point to get the kitchen ready anyways. His end of the day briefing will be over earlier than Steve’s own, so that’ll give him plenty of time to take care of business by the time Steve comes home to get himself ready. 

There won’t be any all-afternoon sex marathons or anything, but if he wakes up early enough (because God knows Bucky never does), Steve thinks he might be able to manage to whip up some breakfast in bed, buy him some flowers on the way home if Bucky doesn’t manage to surprise _him_ with some first. They’ll make the best of it, but really- anything they do tomorrow is fine by Steve as long as he gets to spend it with Bucky. 

Bucky, who is gripping his ankle once again between taking breaths to blow in an attempt to help his work dry. Steve can’t help but let his gaze soften when he picks up on how gentle the grip of Bucky’s left hand is on the handle of his brush- he’s felt how gentle that grip is for himself (and boy, can it get him going) but the preciseness Bucky focusing on putting into this stirs something up in him. It’s similar to how Steve used to do this for himself, fighting to keep his hands steady. Seeing Bucky do the same- and succeed- is always something special, even without what day it is tomorrow in mind. 

But, once Steve looks down at Bucky’s finished product, it’s very hard not to have that in mind indeed. The color selection makes it pretty clear. 

The color Bucky had let Steve pick out today isn’t the same cheap shade of shell pink that his feet had seen the first time he’d done this, but it’s pretty close to it. Steve’s an artist, but he was also partially color blind for a good chunk of his life, which has made color theory a little hard to get a hand on- with that in mind, he’d say this color is darker, though. More of a blush shade.

He’d absentmindedly told Bucky this when he was laying the towel down on the couch, which only served to pull out a smirk and get him a kiss smacked on his forehead. 

“Matches that pretty color you’ve got on your face, then,” Bucky had teased. Steve, for his part, just turned redder at that and smacked his arm, but had gone down pliantly when Bucky pulled him down on the couch beside him to get started. 

Ironically enough, the shade is called _Sugar Daddy._ Bucky thinks it’s hilarious (but not as hilarious as him, of course). Steve just thinks it’s _pretty,_ is all. 

By the way he’s admiring his own handiwork right now, Bucky does too. He has to let go of Steve’s ankle to screw to top back onto the bottle, but soon enough he has that set to the side and is grabbing both ankles this time, holding Steve close as he can and stroking smooth circles again the fine hair covering his legs while they wait for the polish to dry. 

Steve’s never been patient, hence the way he carefully leans forward and pouts after a mere minute of comfortable silence. 

Bucky snorts, then smiles. “You need something?” His tone is bemused enough for Steve to be aware Bucky knows what he wants. _Asshole._

Steve gives him a pointed look and pouts again. “Kiss, please.” He’s being a bit dramatic just because it’s Bucky and he can, but they also haven’t kissed since finishing cleaning up the kitchen earlier after dinner. He spent too long not being able to kiss his guy- he’s gonna take what he can from him every chance he gets. 

Bucky is almost always willing to give, anyways, even if it’s with an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I can spare one of those.” He leans forward as well, large palms squeezing in at the same time his lips press against Steve’s parted own. 

He still tastes like wine from dinner, and Steve licks the traces off it off the corner of his mouth when they part. “Only one?” He lets the question sound hopeful. It is. 

Bucky laughs and lets go of one leg to bring up his metal hand and fit it around the side of Steve’s face. “Your Ma raised you not to be greedy,” he chides, though they both know it isn’t genuine. His next words are, though. “But I since it’s almost Valentine’s Day and you _are_ my Valentine… I can be generous.”

Steve grins. Bucky can be a lot of things when they’re like this. Right now, it seems like he’s choosing to be gentle, because that’s exactly how his next kiss comes- gently, with a deep hum that echoes Steve’s sigh as their lips both part enough for their tongues to slide together. 

They can’t get too worked up like this, Steve knows, not with how his nails are still drying. But that’s distant, especially with how Bucky’s own blunt nails dig into the skin of his calf as the kiss ends up deepening. Steve makes a sound into it that _might_ be edging on a moan, but he can’t help it with how warm the metal of Bucky’s other hand is pressing against his cheek when he turns his head to tilt into the exchange further, letting Bucky have a better angle to take him apart. 

Bucky doesn’t take that course of action, unfortunately (well, fortunately for Steve’s feet), but he does look more than a little reluctant to let their lips part when he pulls back, tip of his nose bumping against Steve’s own. Steve sighs again, this time a little sadly, but Bucky doesn’t let him go amiss for very long. 

He takes the thumb of his right hand and brings it down to brush across the first of Steve’s nails he’d painted, testing out to see whether it sticks or not. “This stuff said quick dry. S’been about fifteen since I finished your other foot, you think that’s long enough?” He shrugs when Steve blinks at him. “You’ve done this more than me.” 

Steve tips his head in acknowledgment. That’s true- he’s got a few more years under his belt when it comes to this kind of stuff, even if they both enjoy it. “You used pretty thin coats, so I should be able to move a bit, but it’ll still be a little while before it’ll be dry enough to put under the covers without it smudging.” 

Bucky hums before moving suddenly to get off the couch. “Well, I don’t suppose I’d want all my hard work going to waste…” he says, voice suspiciously bright. “Right?”

Steve narrows his eyes at him, not sure about where this is going but knowing that it’s going _somewhere_ , knowing Bucky’s. “Right.”

Tunes out, he is right. Because about half a second and a crooked smile later, Bucky’s hauling Steve up with his prosthetic tucked behind Steve’s still bent knees, scooped up to hold him bridal style before Steve even has the chance to protest being picked up in the first place. 

He’s got his nails painted- he isn’t a goddamn _damsel,_ he’s a grown man _,_ and even held like this- he sure as hell isn’t a princess, either. He knows that’s not the point or what this is about. This is just how Bucky’s always been with him, pushing him around. But protesting it- that’s how _Steve’s_ always been with _him_ in return. 

He pushes at his shoulder, but it’s half hearted with how delighted he knows Bucky has been since he got back with the fact he’s once again strong enough to be able to scoop Steve up whenever he wants, even with the serum’s changes. Still, for continuity-

_“Buck,”_ he complains, cradling one arm across the back of Bucky’s neck to help keep himself supported. He slips the other across his chest to smack at his shoulder again, feet kicked out to the side undisturbed. “I can walk just fine on my own.” Bucky already knows this, but still.

“Well, now you don’t have to.” It’s only thanks to his thighs that Bucky manages his next move, squatting down slightly with Steve’s weight still in his arms and tilting his head towards the towel still on the couch where they were just sitting. “Grab that for me?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but obeys, tossing it over his own shoulder once Bucky’s straightened back up and taken his first step towards their bedroom. “You know, you could just _ask_ me to move. Sometimes I might even say yes.” Bucky is the _only_ person who could ever make him do that, but he doesn’t say that part out loud. 

Bucky grins, soft and easy to match how Steve’s gone in his arms. “I know. I just prefer to do it myself.” He nuzzles closer, whispering his next words like a secret into Steve’s ear. “You know you like it, anyways.”

The walk to their room is thankfully short, but Steve still lets his head tuck into Bucky’s neck for the few seconds it takes anyways, only pausing to lift it once they’re inside with the door pushed open so he can toss the towel in the hamper on top of their workout clothes from today’s earlier run with Sam. He’ll do the laundry sometime this week. They usually try to get it done on the weekends if they can, but as things are, their evening tomorrow is booked and busy- and right now…

Bucky tosses him on the bed, at least having the courtesy to aim his head towards the pillows but laughing at the disgruntled noise the landing pulls. Steve doesn’t even have time to get his body properly situated over the covers before Bucky is taking initiative to climb right over him to get to his side of the bed without having to circle around. 

Steve grunts when Bucky almost elbows him in the chest with the movement, but only complains when he’s finally allowed to cuddle up on Bucky’s own, feet kept out in front of him pressed against the tops of Bucky’s own. They’re the same height, but with Steve angled halfway on his side the way that he is- it’s nice he can still fit like this, even if it isn’t exactly the same as it used to be. 

“You’re gonna break my nose again, Barnes.” 

Bucky flicks him in the aforementioned part of his face, rolling his eyes and bending his head to kiss it once Steve lifts his to give him a good natured glare. “The last time I was what? Ten? Gotta let it go, Stevie.”

Steve shakes his head, top of his hair catching against Bucky’s beard when he brings his face back down to his chest. “When have you known me to ever let something go?”

They both know Bucky’s always been a little smug about the bump that break caused anyways, especially with how it still sits on his nose even after the serum. He’d felt bad in the moment, but after- he’d put his mark on Steve down to the bone. Steve doesn’t mind the bump much when he thinks of it like that, especially not when Bucky’s letting him nudge it against his neck. 

Bucky kicks lightly up at Steve’s foot from underneath in gentle reprimand. “You’re a real brat sometimes, you know that? No wonder I picked out the name _punk_ for you.”

Steve pushes his own foot down against Bucky’s in response, careful not to disturb the polish too much. “Not a very nice thing to say to your Valentine, is it, Barnes?” 

“Aw, sugar,” Bucky takes that nickname and injects every bit of saccharinity of it into his tone. “I’m gonna be extra sweet on you tomorrow. Promise.” He crooks out the pinky of his flesh hand, metal currently busy rubbing over Steve’s back. “Need to seal the deal to be sure?” He sounds so smug Steve almost slaps his hand away, but pinky swears are something stupid they’ve been doing since they were kids. 

Far be it from Steve to break that promise. He raises his hand and hooks his pinky around Bucky’s, pulling to lock them together tight. “Hope you got your outfit picked out for tomorrow too,” he says, bringing his hand back down to rest on Bucky’s chest without bothering to break the hold apart. Bucky just twists his hand to lay flat over top of Steve’s with their fingers still slotted together. “Wouldn’t want to show up overdressed.”

Bucky rubs over his back and presses a kiss to his hair, stubble prickling against his scalp when he speaks without pulling away. “You don’t have to show up dressed at all, if you’re worried.” His tone is provocative, and Steve can't help but flush even though he knows that’s the reaction he knows Bucky is trying to pull in the first place. 

“Don’t want me to do your nails too?” Steve wiggles his toes while he speaks. His have to be almost done drying by now. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I have my own ways of cleaning up.” Steve hums in response- he’s well aware of that. Bucky’s always handsome, but he cleans up very nice indeed- has since the forties, even when his suit patterns were pinstriped and hair product a bit too stiff. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to accidentally make the color clash with my clothes.” So he _does_ have an outfit picked out, must be. 

Steve expected as much- Bucky’s always been the more suave between them both, he can admit. “Offer’s always open,” he tells him, just to make sure he knows. Even if Steve can only paint his one hand (he doubts Shuri would appreciate nail polish on her tech, even if it _is_ technically Bucky’s body part) he’s willing to do it as soon as Bucky says the word. 

Bucky kisses his hair again. “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

Steve presses his own kiss into the stubble on his neck, strands of Bucky’s loose hair tickling his temples. “Just make sure you don’t go looking in my side of the closet. I want my outfit to be a surprise.”

“So it is for me after all?” He can feel the movement of Bucky smiling against the crown of his head. “And don’t worry.” He lowers his voice like he’s telling Steve a secret. “I already spent enough time in that place anyways.”

Steve lets out a breathless laugh at that joke- it might not have been funny to him back in the forties, but it sure as hell is now. “ _Buck.”_

Bucky squeezes his grip lightly around Steve’s wrist. “You think your nails are almost dry?” 

It’s been nearly another fifteen minutes since they left the living room, meaning the side Bucky finished second has had about half an hour to dry. Steve knows from experience that’s about how long it should take for the polish to set, so he nods. 

“They should be good to go. Still have to get ready for bed, anyways.” He leans up to peck the corner of Bucky’s mouth, right where the silver spot he loves sits. “Wouldn’t want to wake you up with bad breath tomorrow.” Serum couldn’t fix _everything,_ after all. 

Bucky hums and nuzzles Steve’s hair so he can plant a kiss of his own on the center of his forehead. “We’ve been through enough that I don’t think a little bad breath would be a breaking point.” He curls his prosthetic closer, comfortable enough to apparently not want to get up. “I’d let you kiss me anyways.”

_I’d let you do_ anything _, anyways,_ Steve thinks, sudden swell of affection rising up so thick in his stomach that he burrows in tighter to Bucky’s hold without a second thought. He can blame the proximity to such a sappy holiday, but really- feeling like this is a pretty regular occurrence, at least when it comes to Bucky Barnes. 

Loving him doesn’t ever get old, even after all these years together (and unfortunately some of them apart). Steve will never stop wanting more with him. 

Still, that doesn’t mean they don’t need to get a move on and get ready for bed. They have work tomorrow as well, after all, and Steve wants to wake up early enough to squeeze in a shower and shave before he makes Bucky breakfast if he can manage it- which he won’t be doing if he can’t even manage to make it _to_ bed in the first place. Figuratively, at least. They’re already in bed, but Steve’s not getting under the blankets without at least brushing his teeth first. 

So, bearing that in mind, he sighs and pats at Bucky’s chest while pushing into an upward position. “C’mon, Buck. Gotta go get ready for bed.”

Bucky groans. “Usually I’m the one trying to force you to move,” he grumps. That’s true- Steve can get pretty stationary after certain...activities. Has to let his senses settle back down, and all- Bucky might not be a morning person, but he never seems to mind moving in those moments. Now, however…

Steve swings his feet over off the side of the bed, letting his grip slip from Bucky’s to brace on the side of the mattress instead so he can peer down at his painted nails. They look good still, even when he puts his feet on the floor to stand up and stretch, glancing back at Bucky over his shoulder- Bucky, who is still back on the bed. 

Sighing, Steve turns and holds his hand back out. Bucky just gives him a blank look, but groans and rolls up once he makes a grabby hands gesture. The brunette sighs, but lets Steve pull him forward. “Fine.”

Once he’s on his feet, Steve turns back to head towards the bath attached to their bedroom suite, but he only makes it a few steps before he feels Bucky pressing up against his back with mismatched arms circled around his waist. _Someone’s_ clinging tonight. Not that Steve minds. 

He has to back off once they get into the bathroom anyways, stepping to his side of the twin sinks they have installed and immediately splashing water on his face to wash it off before moving on to combing it through his beard. 

Steve’s able to skip that second step, having shaved this morning. Not that he’s much on the beard front for himself, either way- maybe one day. He busies himself with brushing his teeth instead, patting his face dry with a towel once he’s done and moving around the corner to use the toilet tucked out of sight- for “aesthetic” value, apparently. 

Steve appreciates it, really- close as they are, taking a piss with Bucky present isn’t the highlight of their shared bathroom routines, and he doesn’t often feel like making the trek to their guest bathroom just to avoid doing so. 

By the time he’s finished and made his wash back out to wash his hands, Bucky is putting the final touches on his beard oil, hair tugged back in a ponytail to keep from tangling while they sleep. He gives Steve a smile that’s gone slightly tired. 

“Ready to head to bed, Valentine?”

Steve’s view of Bucky’s bare chest when he strips out of his t-shirt to toss it into the hamper has him _very_ ready. He does the same with his own- they both tend to sleep hot, so their pajamas are really just their underwear. His hair is messed up by the motion, Bucky’s hands sliding through it when he comes over to him only serving to mess it up even more. 

He wrinkles his nose, but lets Bucky kiss him. His mouth tastes like mint, flesh hand on the side of Steve’s neck smelling fragrant from the oil. “‘S’not Valentine’s Day yet, Buck,” he points out, pulling away to push open the door. “But let’s go to sleep before it is, yeah?”

Bucky smacks his butt through his briefs playfully, this time rounding his way to his side of the bed to slip under the blankets. He tosses Steve an easy grin at the glare it gets him from where he’s gone to get the light. “Fine. You’re my sweetheart every day of the year, though, don’t think you’re getting out of that one.” He fluffs up his pillow before flopping back against it. “End of the line, remember?”

Switching off the light keeps Bucky from seeing how red Steve’s cheeks have gone, but Steve would wager he’s aware of it anyways with how he chuckles. “Only places I want to _get_ are ones with you, Buck,” he sighs, padding back over to the bed and lifting up the covers so he can crawl inside. “Should know that.”

“I do know,” Bucky’s voice is soft. So is his touch when he wraps a hand around Steve’s wrist to pull him to his side- as if that wasn’t straight to where Steve was planning on going anyways. The warmth of skin on skin only has a moment to sink in before Bucky’s quietly going on. “I love you.”

Steve snuggles closer, feet tucking their way between Bucky’s legs, painted nails pressing right up against the man who loves Steve enough to have done them. It’s the little things, sometimes. The little things and the fact Bucky always has his back for the big. 

“I love you.” Those three little words- they still haven’t stopped feeling big, even by now. Steve doesn’t suppose they ever will, with how many wars and wounds they had to go through to get to say them. “Buck?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Bucky’s breath is warm where it tickles against his skin. 

Steve smiles sleepily and shoulders the blankets up so that when he rolls up to lay halfway on top of Bucky, they’re both tucked into a space just for two. He touched their foreheads together, words a stage whisper. “You gonna be my Valentine?”

Bucky snorts and extracts a hand out from their little cocoon to tug at Steve’s hair like he always does when he’s said something stupid. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be mine.” His answer comes out in a whisper of his own, right up against Steve’s lips when he tilts and leans in to kiss him. 

“That a yes?” Steve’s a little breathless by the time they part. 

Bucky’s own breath comes out as a huff. He holds Steve closer. “‘Course it is. What’s next, you need me to ask you out on the date _you_ helped me plan?”

“Well, now that you mention it, no one has ever _technically_ asked me out on-“

Bucky cuts him off with a quick kiss, tugging on his hair again to break it off. “Far be it from me to not take every first from my fella,” he teases. “How about it, baby? Wanna go on a date with me? I’ll be a gentleman.”

Steve pretends to think, laughing when Bucky kicks him under the covers for it. “Sure, smooth talker.” He settles back down on his side, head finding its normal perch against Bucky’s neck on the pillow. “Though I guess I’ve made us get things a little out of order with the ‘take me to dinner’ part of things.”

Bucky hums, deep and drowsy, eyes falling shut even while he’s still stroking Steve’s shoulder with the arm he has around them. “We’ve always been a pretty unusual couple.”

Steve lets his eyes close as well. “Speak for yourself. I’m perfectly normal.”

“I don’t know, you’ve always been pretty special to me.” Bucky presses a final kiss to hair before Steve can find it in him to wake up enough to mouth back an answer. “Now quit your yapping and get some sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.”

Steve grumbles under his breath, but he knows they’re both already half asleep. Still, he can’t let Bucky get the last word in- never has been able to. “Goodnight, Buck. Love you.”

“Love you back, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.” 

With how quickly Steve drops off after that- well, maybe he’ll let Bucky get that last word in just this once. There’ll be plenty of time for talking tomorrow. 

But no matter how they spent it- at the end of the day, Steve hopes they’ll wind up right back here. Happy and at home. That’s always how he feels with Bucky, though, whether that’s back in Brooklyn or lost in a war. Slap a coat of paint on it and it’ll stay the same- some things never change, even when everything else does. Steve knows that better than anyone. 

But nothing, he thinks, will ever come close to being better than this. 

_

Slipping in the front door the following evening, the only _better_ Steve is thinking of is that Bucky _better_ appreciate what he’s about to put on, because Steve has had a hell of a time getting home to be able to do that, hence how out of breath he is when he calls out his usual greeting, tonight to where Bucky is holed up in the kitchen. 

“I’m home!”

There’s a clang that sounds like the oven is slamming shut, and a metal hand is poking out to wave out through the cracked open partition that separates the kitchen from where Steve is standing in the living room, still toeing off his shoes with the flowers he snagged from the corner shop held in hand

“Hey, honey.” Bucky still sounds busy, which is a relief, because Steve has a lot left to do to get ready himself. “How was work?”

Steve sighs, shrugging off his jacket as well and trying not to crinkle the package the flowers are wrapped in too much. Bucky’s got the same hearing abilities he does. “Hectic. Had to rush on my way out, apparently Sharon’s boss was looking for me, but- I’d rather be here than hostage in another SHIELD meeting.”

“I’d rather you be here, too.” About three cabinets shut at once, based off sound, and Steve can’t help but smile. 

Between the two of them, he’s always been more of the cook. Growing up, Bucky always had his Ma and his sisters around to keep house, whereas Sarah’s night shifts meant Steve making meals was something he had to start doing himself at a fairly young age. That, paired with how as adults, Bucky’s jobs tended to be more heavy lifting than Steve’s own- he’d been more than happy to do what he could to make sure Bucky wasn’t giving more than he was getting while they lived together. Making them both dinner for when Bucky got home from the docks was the least he could do, and it wasn’t like Bucky _never_ cooked- just not like he does now, showing an active interest. Never for them to eat on a _date._

Steve hums and starts heading towards their room. “I’m gonna go get ready. I got a time frame?”

“I’ll wait for you as long as you need, angelface,” Bucky’s crooned out answer comes. Steve rolls his eyes, but the heat in his face isn’t strictly from having to hurry home anymore. “Half an hour enough for you? That should be when the first round of stuff finishes.”

Steve nods even though he knows Bucky can’t see, new spring in his step now that he has set direction to what he needs to do. “I’ll see you then.” Then, a bit shyer, “It’s a date.”

He can hear Bucky’s smile in his voice. “Sure is, sunshine.” Steve doesn’t even make it down the hall before he hears him calling out again, pausing to listen. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Steve’s own smile is so wide it might as well split his face. “Happy Valentine’s day, Buck.” With that, he heads back towards their room. He has a date to get ready for, after all. 

Pushing in the doorway, he’s glad he had the forethought to set everything up in the closet, because God knows he can get a little out of control. Bucky had stored his own stash in the guest bedroom where Sam usually sleeps when he stays over, so there hadn’t been much risk run of him, which Steve is also glad for. It’s supposed to be a surprise. 

Setting the flowers down on the nightstand and moving to open the closet door and survey what’s inside, Steve thinks that Bucky will be very surprised indeed. 

Like Steve said before- he’s not necessarily the most fashionable by any means, though he gets by much better nowadays than he did back in 2012. But he still thinks that what he’s put together for today will fit the bill pretty well, if he does say so himself. Fits him pretty well too, considering he ordered most of it online. His reasons for doing that instead of just picking it up in person...well, some things are just a little too uncomfortable to do with the mantle of Captain America constantly looming over him. 

That’s not who he is here, although the red boots sitting on the floor might greatly resemble the ones that had once been part of that persona. 

Steve bends down and picks them up before using his other hand to pull out the hanger holding the rest of his clothing for the night as well, walking over to lay it on the bed so he can take another look. Yeah, he thinks he’s done well with this outfit, even if it’s a bit different from what he’d normally wear- said _outfit_ consisting of the short sleeve sweater and pink wrap-tied skirt he’d bought in preparation for this exact occasion. 

Being for this exact occasion, they match today’s lovey-dovey theme pretty well- _pretty_ being the key word. The sweater is pink too, lighter and fuzzy with a felt heart stitched into the center, whereas the skirt- a darker shade intentionally matching the polish Bucky had helped put on him last night- is a flowy polyester material not far from the Nike he usually wears around the house after workouts, though definitely a good bit daintier with how the hemlines ruffles and the top goes high waisted above the wrapped tie. 

He’d gone with pink rather than red because too much of the latter felt a little too on the nose with the whole _Captain America, red white and blue_ shtick. The boots might be a bit counterproductive to that, seeing as they resemble the ones he’d work for the USO pretty closely- but that had been part of the charm when he picked them out. The slight heel has been a little hard to get used to walking in again and he doesn’t cherish the idea of being too much taller than Bucky- but they bring the outfit together, he thinks.

He’s running on a limited amount of time now, so he pulls his belt from his jeans and starts the process of stripping them off, throwing them into the hamper on top of the towel from last night after he’s left in just his boxer briefs- but after a moment of musing decides to take those off to and head to the dresser to get a pair of underwear that won’t run the risk of peeking out from under his skirt. He picked out a more modest option for a reason- he wants them to make it through their planned dinner without any funny business- Bucky’s working hard on it, after all- but that doesn’t necessarily mean he can’t wear something a little special underneath. 

Something _special_ ends up being a pair of the pale pink CKs he got last month- the cut was called _Micro Hip Brief_ which to Steve seems to translate into _men’s panties-_ but he won’t push semantics if they prevent his bottoms from having any lines. He’s trying to look good, after all. Put together. 

Pulling the underwear on and heading back over to the bed to what he has laid out, he starts doing so by picking up the skirt to slip on up his legs. Thankfully the underwear matches it pretty well in color- Steve doesn’t want to clash now that his eyes can pick up on what shades he’s wearing in full. 

Steve’s glad he ended up going with a plain print- while wearing skirts isn’t anything too out of the ordinary for him now that he’s back in the habit again, hasn’t been anything new since he was nineteen years old, this whole bright colors and fancy textures thing _is_ new. Usually he sticks to more subtle choices, like athletic skirts or vintage cuts they would have seen in shop windows back in the day. That’s where he had started this and all.

He’d pondered what to pick out for a long while after Bucky suggested this whole date night dine in idea- nowadays, the options are endless and the expedition of buying something like this for himself doesn’t run the risk of landing him in jail.

Florals had been out- too loud for what he wanted to go for (and they tend to remind him of his Ma’s old couch, anyways). Plaids had only made him think of bad sexy schoolgirl porn tropes (thanks to Tony’s taunting attempts to “show him what modern sex could be like” by sending videos to the phone he was still learning to work at the time). Stripes were too American flag-ish, silk was too easy to stain, and velvet tended to make his serum-sensitive skin crawl. 

So, plain print it was- the color he had chosen was more pretty than practical, at least. Bucky might not be surprised by the presence of the skirt in the general, but the fact that it’s a part of an outfit like this will probably be enough to get him there. 

Steve finishes settling the waistband over his hips, but waits to do the wrap-tie until after he gets into the sweater, which winds up being softer on the skin than anything else Steve has ever worn once he gets it on over his head. He shivers a bit at the feeling of it against his chest, straightening it out and glancing down to survey whether the heart lays flat over top of it before reaching down to knot the ties to his skirt into a bow that winds up resting to hang off the right side of his hip. 

He smooths everything out and admires the effect for a brief moment- but the distant beeping of the oven that filters in from the kitchen gets him back on track to putting the final piece in place- the boots. 

Steve has the decency to change into clean socks- the serum took care of a lot of things, but not his ability to sweat, and he’s been on his feet all day. Tugging the boots on over the top of them might seem like it makes the nail painting from last night unnecessary, but Steve’s counting on Bucky taking a lot of this outfit off at the end of the night, and he wanted to feel pretty underneath it too. Sue him. 

He’d debated on shaving his legs in the shower this morning, but had settled on skipping that step. What little hair he has down there is fine and fair enough to be of little hindrance, and to be honest- he likes feeling it brush up against the bottom of his skirt if he’s wearing one. 

He’s feeling that now as he steps over to place the hanger back in the closet, shutting the door once he’s done and using it as an opportunity to give his outfit a final once over in the mirror hanging off the back. He’d liked the way everything looked online and on the hanger, but on _him-_

He looks good. He _feels_ good. 

Bucky’s always said he’s pretty in pink- which is a sentiment meant to tease about the habitual blushing more than anything, but Steve doubts that Bucky will take back the application when it comes to this. He’s always had rosy undertones anyways- it’s the Irish in him. 

He hadn’t gone for this part on purpose, but he’s finding out that high waisted cuts do everything to accentuate the somehow still slender waist the serum left him with- the top he has on isn’t skin tight, but the length of it manages to make things look extra trim. The same goes for the skirt. Steve’s legs might not be as built as Bucky’s are, but they’re long and lean and looking fantastic, if Steve does say so himself. 

Especially with the boots to finish it all off- he can feel himself wiggling his toes inside the ends of them as he gathers up the flowers he’d picked up for Bucky on the way home, excited and a little bit nervous to go out now that the time to carry out their plans is nearing. 

He kills a few extra moments by fixing his hair in the mirror, then by going over to their nightstand to fish out the chapstick he has stowed inside so he can make sure his lips are as presentable as the rest of him- the strawberry one, tinted to make his lips look pinker by the time he’s finished preening and is fully prepared to go out and see what Bucky has in store. 

He still has to take a deep breath before he can find it in himself to exit their bedroom, squaring his shoulders broad enough for them to shift under the softness of his sweater and get him sighing as he settles down into it with his first steps forward. He isn’t nervous, per se- he doesn’t really have anything to _be_ nervous about. This is nothing new, not with how well Bucky knows him. 

Maybe it’s dumb, but- this is the first proper Valentine’s Day they’ve gotten to have together in a very long time. Steve just wants it to be good, is all, no matter how corny and over the top they’re being now that they’re allowed to be a couple without having to hide from the world, their team, or even themselves. 

He’s not hiding anymore, never would have been able to find himself here if he was. And rounding the corner to where he can hear Bucky happily humming as he plates up what Steve suspects to be bread, if smell is anything to go by- Steve’s still nervous, but he’s never been more ready to be seen than he is right now. 

Taking in a deep breath, he walks up to the closed kitchen door and knocks on it with a hand he quickly stows behind his back after to help conceal the flowers that he’s holding in the other. It feels weird, knocking on a door inside his own house, but it’s worth it when Bucky opens up said door with a bright smile that makes Steve go soft and shy in equal amounts. 

He’s beautiful. He always is, always will be no matter what- but it seems like Bucky has more than a few surprises of his own, ones that have Steve feeling more than a little slack jawed as Bucky allows him to step in the kitchen for the first time since yesterday night. He’s changed things up a little since then, it seems. 

There’s a tablecloth on the table, for starters. Not to mention candles, a bottle of wine, two place settings sat kitty-corner so they can remain close even while eating (Steve warms a little at that), and most importantly: a vase of flowers. Turns out great minds think alike. 

Taking a longer look at Bucky leaning against the counter, Steve can’t help but note that’s true for more than one thought. 

As implied last night, Bucky’s outfit appears to have taken some prior planning, because Steve doesn’t ever recall seeing it in their closet before (and with how often they steal each other’s clothing, he should have for sure). The color of his top is one that’s familiar, at least, the deep maroon of the well-worn henley Bucky had been wearing the first time he came back home- but the cropping of it… well, that’s a little different than anything else Steve has ever seen him in. The fact it’s cropped in _general_ is something new, let alone the fact that it's cropped enough for Bucky’s abdomen to be bared front and center- so much for being modest. 

The tweet pants and black buckled boots that make up the rest of what he’s got on are modest, at least. And Steve can’t kid himself- even with a sweatered henley version of a crop top on, Bucky looks more suave and smooth than Steve himself will ever be able to be (in his own mind, anyways). Like Steve said before, Bucky cleans up nice. Always has. 

But on this occasion, what really pulls it together is his face- and more importantly, what he’s got on it. His hair is down, but pushed back so that his features are as striking as ever. Really, even more so striking thanks to the liner and shadow smudged around both of his eyes. 

Like Steve and the skirts, Bucky in a bit of makeup isn’t much to fuss about. It’s something that’s definitely newer than Steve’s own more delicate dress habits- but it helps him out in the same way soft clothes do with Steve. Settles him into his own skin, into who he _is_ rather than what other people have made him out to be- which is his case, is a sentiment that can be applied literally to an awful amount after what he’s been through.

The paint the soldier had had around his eyes is both painfully close and impossibly far from what he’s got on now, a fact that Steve knows Bucky holds close to his heart. The fact he’s able to be here and have this- it’s a sign of healing in his eyes, whether he’s wearing makeup on them or not. 

There’s also the fact that he looks good as hell when he does, though. 

Steve can feel his own eyes go a bit wide at the sight of him- even more so when he sees just how intently Bucky himself is looking _Steve_ over, focus not wavering as he surveys him from head to toe and takes in everything in between. 

Bucky eyes go a half lidded. He must like what he sees. It only takes a second for that suspicion to be confirmed- because soon enough, his mouth is twisting up into a second smile and he’s lifting up his flesh hand to gesture Steve forward. 

“C’mere,” he says. “Lemme get a closer look at you, lover boy.” That last little pet name is teasing and trite enough for Steve to wrinkle his nose at it, but the way Bucky beckons him forward again pushes him to follow through on the request. 

He makes his way forward, hands still behind his back and heart feeling like it’s ready to leap out of his throat when he gets close enough to see all that Bucky has trayed up on the counter behind him. And to think Bucky had never thought himself to be a good cook before they wound up here (although granted, that may just have been an excuse to get out of helping around their shitty excuse of a house). 

Bucky’s hands are brushing up against his waist in seconds when Steve steps close enough, just like they always do, only this time-

Bucky’s metal fingers make their way down to fiddle with the end of the ties that are keeping Steve’s skirt tight, tugging on them gently before tapping against Steve’s thigh as a signal for the blonde to meet his eyes. Steve does, and Bucky’s smile is so bright, that this close, it’s almost blinding. 

“You look amazing,” he tells him, soft and sincere enough for Steve do have to duck his head for a second before he feels Bucky’s other hand lift to hold his chin firm and bring him back up so that their gazes meet again, this time with a blush forming under the bottom of Steve’s own. “Don’t be going all shy on me now, Stevie. Got a lot more sweet things I want to say to you than just that.”

Steve smiles best he can with Bucky’s hand still bracing around his chin, sighing once the brunette lets him go and pats his cheek to rest his palm there instead. “You look really nice too, Buck.” His eyes drop enough to take a peek at how both Bucky’s chest and stomach are shown off by the cut of his top, light hair dusting them and all. “ _Really_ nice.”

Bucky snorts and looks so smug that Steve knows he’s done a shit job at being subtle. “Really?” he drawls. “Bet you say that to all the men who make you dinner, doll, don’t you?”

Steve’s eyes flick to the spread of food behind him, half of which still seems to be heating up in the oven. It’s a lot, but so is how much Bucky loves him, he’d say. That’s true for how much Steve loves him, in any case. 

He shakes his head, grip shifting on the gift for Bucky he has in hand behind his back. “Only the ones who kiss me in the kitchen while they do.” If he sounds hopeful, it’s because he is.

Bucky takes that as the roundabout request it is, planting one on him at the same time Steve takes it upon himself to pull out the bouquet of lavender and baby’s breath he has behind his back and hold it next to the hip Bucky doesn’t currently have in hand so it’s the first think Bucky looks at when he opens back up his eyes. 

Bucky blinks, first at Steve, then down between them. He licks his lips, smudging at the corner of Steve’s own with his thumb and a small smile. “Strawberry?” Then, with Steve’s shy nod, flowers still by their sides, “Lavender?”

“And baby’s breath, they said,” Steve says, demeanor only loosening when Bucky accepts the bouquet into his hand dropped from Steve’s face. “You like ‘em?”

“They’ll go just perfect with the ones I got you.” Bucky pats Steve’s hip with his prosthetic and nods to where the vase Steve had noticed when he walked in is still sitting on the table, filled to the brim with what looks to be lilies. “‘Course I like ‘em. I like anything from you- lemme get a vase and we’ll see how they look with some water, how about that, Valentine?”

Steve rolls his eyes at the wink Bucky gives him, but lets him move from the counter to the cupboard in search of what he’s wanting, and soon enough there’s a second vase on the table and Bucky back with both hands slid around Steve’s waist while they look. He kisses him again, this time drawn out and deeper so that Steve almost forgets they’re in the kitchen and not already tangled up in bed- the oven beeping again takes care of that confusion, though. 

Bucky tugs on his hair before pulling away, huffing at the sigh the loss elicits from Steve’s side. “Wait here. Just gonna be a sec.”

Still slightly dizzy from the kiss, Steve makes a show of planting his feet and folding his hands back behind his waist like he’s at parade rest and not just standing in their kitchen. “Won’t be going anywhere without food first.”

Bucky laughs and gives him a playfully stern look over his shoulder while stepping towards the oven. “Don’t think you’ll make it too far in those boots, sweetheart. USO wasn’t exactly handing out much that was ARMY mandated and I doubt wherever you found those was either.”

Steve can feel himself turning about the same shade as them now that he knows Bucky’s noticed- he shouldn’t be surprised, though. Considering how he’s been trained, Bucky notices _everything._ Still, he keeps his voice prim when he responds. 

“I still managed to rescue you in the shirt they gave me,” he argues, chest puffed up under his sweater. “Shield and helmet, too. Besides, I was under the impression you _liked_ what they put me in.” The _keeping the outfit_ line of flirtation hadn’t left much else for Steve to think, even if Bucky might not specifically remember saying it. 

He must, though, because he’s snorting while he puts his oven mitt on in order to crack open the door and pull out whatever’s inside. “I sure did,” he says. “‘Specially those shorts. Don’t go thinking any different- though seeing you in one of those USO skirts would’ve been something special, too. Shame they didn’t make one of ‘em in your size.”

He’s teasing, but Steve agrees. Embarrassment about being a propaganda figure aside, he had liked the girl’s outfits, and if he’d had the space and safety to try one on he would have. Now that he has both of those things (and the ability to online order to size) perhaps he will- but that might be more of a Bucky’s birthday thing. Next month, maybe. For now, he pouts and waits for Bucky to come back over. 

When Bucky does, it’s with a plate of cooling cookies in hand. They smell amazing, and by the time Bucky is back in front of him, Steve’s mouth is watering more than it had when he first got a look at Bucky’s torso in that shirt. 

Bucky leans back against the counter and sets the plate next to him. “The chicken should come out of the oven in about fifteen minutes,” he says. “We’ll be good to go then.” He reaches out a hand and tugs Steve in by the tie on his skirt. “You hungry?”

Steve resolutely refuses to let his eyes dip down to Bucky’s body when he answers. “Very.” Then, nuzzling nearer until he’s leaning forward on his toes, hungry for something else, “You gonna give me any appetizers?” Bucky just gives him an unimpressed look, but it’s tinged with affection around the edges, so Steve sidles in closer, hands still clasped neatly behind his back. 

Bucky doesn’t make a motion for him to back off, but he doesn’t give in to Steve’s silent asking for another kiss, only smirks and brings his flesh hand back up to cup under Steve’s chin- a motion that raises Steve’s hope high only for them to be left hanging on the edge when instead of a kiss pressed to his lips, he gets a cookie instead. 

He almost protests, but Bucky doesn’t give him time to, dessert delicately pinched between the fingers of his prosthetic. “Careful,” he croons. “Still might be a little hot.” Then, giving Steve a once over and a smirk, “But not as hot as you in those clothes, hotshot.”

Steve wants to groan at the line, but all he can do is open his mouth and let Bucky press the cookie inside, palm cradled underneath his chin to catch any crumbs that fall when Steve takes a bite and begins to chew. 

Bucky goes on while his mouth is full, eyes crinkling makeup and all when he smiles. “Might look even better out of them, though. I oughta know since I helped you get prettied up underneath last night.”

Mouth no longer preoccupied, Steve smiles a bit shyly but still manages to shoot back, “Might’ve worn it for myself...but I only bought this skirt so you could take it off me.” 

That’s a little bit of a lie- he bought it because he thought it looked nice, but Bucky _was_ the one he was hoping to look nice for. Bucky’s looking at him like he wants to eat him right now, so Steve thinks the effort has been well received. 

The snark gets him another bite of the cookie, this time with Bucky’s hand squeezing tight while he works his jaw to swallow. Steve complains good naturedly once he can. “Buck,” he groans. “You don’t have to help me _chew_. Besides, you’re gonna ruin my appetite.”

“What, I thought you wanted an appetizer?” Bucky teases, eyes twinkling between their liner. They both know what kind of appetizer Steve was aiming for- and while the cookie tastes amazing, it wasn’t what he was after. “Something tells me you’ll still be up for seconds later.”

Steve can’t argue back with that even with how second nature being stubborn comes to him. So, instead of that, he just takes what Bucky gives him and keeps letting him feed him the cookie until it’s gone save for the crumbs stuck to Bucky’s fingers. He licks those off too when Bucky presses the pads of them against his lips, absentmindedly thinking that he should have brought his chapstick with him until Bucky’s kissing him like he’s wanted him to for the past ten minutes, and then he isn’t thinking at all.

Even with as out of it as he is, his hands still manage to find their way from behind his back to rest on top of Bucky’s mismatched shoulders, giving him the leverage to lean into the kiss fully for however many minutes they have left to waste. With the oven on and sun still coming in through the windows, the room is warm and cozier than anywhere else in the house- but even if that wasn’t the case, the way Bucky’s treating him now and all of tonight is enough for Steve to feel like he’s on fire.

It’s shaping up to be a very nice Valentine’s Day this year indeed. 

It’s only about five minutes until the oven timer goes off again, Steve pulling back first this time only for Bucky to pull him back in, smiling against his lips despite Steve’s protests. 

“Buck,” he says, muffled by the press of Bucky’s beard against his mouth. “Buck, you’re gonna let the chicken burn.”

Bucky just lays one on him again, grip tightening both on Steve’s waist and face. “You like it crispy anyways.” Another press of their lips together. “And _I_ like kissing you even more.” 

These are very good points, but as much as Steve wants to see that through- he didn’t get all dressed up for their date to amount to nothing more than making out in the kitchen, and their mothers did _not_ raise them to be wasteful even if they now have the world at their fingertips on a whim. So, letting Bucky kiss him a final time, he pulls away to take a breath and give Bucky the sternest look he can muster with his face feeling as hot as it is. 

His voice still comes out slightly hoarse when he speaks, though, but that can’t be helped with how Bucky’s looking at him, eyes even more piercing than usual with all he’s done today to bring them out. His lips and Steve’s blush are practically as red as the shadow he’s got on top. 

“How about we eat dinner before we get too carried away? Get back to it later when we aren’t running the risk of burning down the kitchen?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hums and nudges his nose against the bump on Steve’s own. “How’s about we make a deal? I’ll save dinner if you let me carry _you_ away later,” he licks a stripe up Steve’s jaw between where the joints of his own fingers are holding it. “Maybe let me eat you too.” His tone is provocative, even as he’s pecking Steve’s cheek chastely and pulling away to turn and finally go get the chicken. “That is, after we get done dancing.”

Steve, on his way over to the table with dishes in hand to help set up, almost drops what he’s holding. He gives Bucky a look. “Dancing? What dancing, Barnes?”

Bucky grins boyishly in response, shutting the oven with one hand and holding their dinner with the other. He doesn’t answer until he has it sat on the center of the table between the side dishes Steve had set out. “What’s a date with Bucky Barnes if it doesn’t end with some dancing?” He winks, but is pulling out Steve’s chair for him before he can protest, and that- well, that shuts Steve up quick. 

He manages a huff while sitting, careful to make sure the hem of his skirt goes down with him. If Bucky can be a gentleman, so can he. 

Doesn’t mean Bucky isn’t still a jerk too, though. 

Case and point, the way his eyes flicker from the other seat at the table, bright as the candle burning in front of them. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully, popping the cork on the wine and pouring them both a healthy amount in their glasses. “Don’t try to play the _I can’t dance_ card with me. You know I know better.”

Steve sighs, because it’s true. He does. Steve _can_ dance- but only when Bucky is leading, considering that’s the only way he’d ever really learned how to, what with Bucky practicing new steps and swings to prepare him for Saturday nights with Steve as his stand-in partner. “Don’t know if the shoes I’ve got on are exactly meant for that.“

Bucky just smiles and starts dishing up both their plates, serving out portions with his prosthetic in a practiced move that makes Steve proud to see carried out so precisely. He’s getting pretty good with it. “You can’t stand on my toes if it’s too hard,” he teases. “Lord knows you step on them often enough anyways. No big deal.”

Steve narrows his eyes and gives him a glare. “Hey,” he warns, cheeks warm. “I do not-“

Bucky cuts him off with a first forkful of what looks to be mashed potatoes held up to his mouth. “Hush up and have your dinner,” he orders playfully. “You were the one all eager about sticking to our plans.”

Same as with the cookie, Steve wants to complain but just starts to clean off the fork as directed (albeit with an unimpressed stare at the man wielding the silverware). Luckily, Bucky lets him eat from his own after the first few bites, falling into a lull of companionable silence and conversation that Steve breaks after he’s finally done chewing the last pieces of foot on his plate. 

He bumps his knee against Bucky’s own, bare skin brushing against tweed under the table. “Everything tastes really good, Buck. Always does.”

Bucky finishes swallowing the bite he had just taken himself, bumping Steve back and brandishing his glass up in a clear sign of wanting to toast. To what, Steve isn’t sure, but he doesn’t have to wait only a few seconds before Bucky’s saying it out loud in an over the top tone. 

“A toast to us,” he pauses, and gives Steve a crooked smile that lets him know something stupid is coming next. “And that fact that Steven Grant Rogers is letting me spoil him for the first time in his entire life.”

“Hey,” Steve complains, good natured and gentle as he raises his glass up to join him. “I let you. Sometimes.”

“Only when you’re not being a stubborn little punk,” Bucky shoots back, downing the sip he takes and rolling his eyes when Steve pouts. “‘S’just how I like you, sweetheart. Wouldn’t be here doing all this if it wasn’t.”

And it’s that- the reminder Bucky is _here_ and _able_ to do all this, that both of them are- that has Steve’s throat suddenly and stupidly clogging up with tears that he didn’t even know were threatening to fall. Bucky, as usual, notices immediately. 

“Hey,” he says, tone shifting from charming to concerned as his flesh hand moves to cover the top of Steve’s own. “What’s up?”

Steve swallows, the hand Bucky isn’t currently holding raising up to rub over the nape of his neck. He feels all wound up in a way that doesn’t let his words come out easy- but with Bucky’s thumb brushing over his skin, touch as soft as the material of Steve’s sweater- things get easier like they always do when he’s around, and soon enough Steve finds it in him to talk. 

“Nothing, I just,” he falters, trying to find the right words, but only succeeding when Bucky’s other hand comes down to squeeze at his thigh where the edge of his skirt has turned up with how he’s sitting. The motion is reassuring, and after a deep breath, Steve goes on. “This is all perfect. I love it- love _you_ , Buck, but-“ his voice gets quieter. “I just never thought I’d get to have this, is all. Never thought I’d get to have _you,_ not again.”

The confession sits between them for a moment filled with silence and the sound of Steve’s foot tapping on the floor under the table beneath them. Steve’s antsy, anxious, agitated at the thought of ruining what was shaping up to be a perfect evening- but Bucky’s voice when he speaks back up holds an understanding that makes Steve’s heart ache. 

“Well,” he says softly. “You got me now. Got me always, just like I got you.” He squeezes Steve’s knee again, fingers slipping between Steve’s over the table top. “Guys like us get the short end of the stick a lot of the time, I know. You told me a few years ago I’d be where I am right now and I’d’ve guessed you were crazier than I was.” Then, scooting his chair closer and looking at Steve with a serious expression, “But we are here, and even with how unfortunate the road to get here was a lot of the way- I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, good, bad, or ugly. You’re _it_ for me, Stevie, end of the line and past it.”

Steve has to pause for a moment to let that sink in- like he said, part of him still can’t believe he gets to have all this. Can’t believe that he no longer has to hide who he is and what he wants from himself or other people, can’t believe he gets to have or _be_ anything more than just Captain America. 

So much is different, but in this moment with the way Bucky is scolding him away from being stubborn, struggling to make him accept being spoiled, looking at him with goddamn _stars_ in his eyes that have for once no proximity to the stripes that usually accompany them when it comes to Steve- so much is the same, as well. The way Steve still feels for Bucky reflects that exactly. 

He can’t think of anything to say that can get that across besides the obvious, so that’s what he goes with when he speaks. “I love you, Buck. Whole lot.”

Bucky smiles and leans over to kiss him, soft and sweet and tasting like everything he’d taken upon himself to make for Steve tonight in order to show him he’s loved. He tells him that out loud, though, just the same as Steve had. “I love you back just as much, Stevie.” 

Steve sighs into the next kiss Bucky gives him, letting out a soft sound when Bucky’s hand slides up in the middle of it under his skirt to the top of his thigh. “Buck,” he admonishes quietly, putting his own free hand on top of it and feeling the metal of his prosthetic through the polyester fabric. “Thought you said something about dancing after dinner, or did you forget about that?”

Bucky hums out a sigh, but lets Steve hold his hand still. “Sorry, sweetheart. Look so good tonight it’s taking a lot not to just put you up on the table and have you for desert right here, right now.” They’ve already eaten most of the cookies by now, but that doesn’t seem like it’s a correction that needs to be made. Bucky knows exactly what he’s saying. 

Steve’s cheeks heat up a bit at the remark, minimum effort required to make his voice go scandalized to smart back an answer. “James Buchanan,” he says, voice dripping mock disbelief. “You trying to get up under my skirt?”

Bucky snorts and pulls his hands off Steve completely to start stacking their empty plates in a pile. “I’d try to get up under anything you wear, but I will admit that little number is a knockout.” He winks again, liner and lashes pairing together to make Steve pink as pretty as the skirt Bucky just spoke of. “Not as much of a knockout as you are, though.”

Steve scoffs even as he can feel the compliment settling warm in his stomach with all that they just ate, accompanying Bucky to the sink when he stands to clear up their dishes. The dinner part of their date is over, but dancing might not be what’s next if Bucky’s decided differently. Steve personally could be persuaded, he admits. 

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind next month for your birthday,” he says, snorting when Bucky gives him a side eye that’s less than subtle with how interested it is. “I’ll check what brand it is when I take it off.”

“Why wait?” Bucky says, waiting until the both of them have dropped their stack of dishes into the sink to turn and sweep Steve back up in his arms, smile sly and shining in the lights he’d dimmed to make the dinner match the mood. “We can dance the night away even if we get a little distracted first.”

Steve laughs as he lets Bucky rock them both back and forth in a loose rendition of the dancing he’s trying to distract them both from in the first place. “Buck,” he breathes out, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his face and settling the same hand down to scratch through the stubble of his beard after. “You don’t gotta ask me twice. I’ll do whatever you want, as long as it’s with you.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of doing it with anyone else,” Bucky promises, but then he’s backing them both up away from where the door is- at first, Steve isn’t sure why, but soon enough he finds himself being dipped down over the table where they’d just dined so Bucky can blow out the candle.

They might now be dancing, but it seems like Bucky’s still making excuses to use all his moves. Steve’s more than glad to let those _moves_ be used on him. 

Those moves manage to help them make their way back to the bedroom where Steve’s night had begun in the first place- but this time, Steve finds himself being deposited on the bed with the intention of getting _out_ of his clothes rather than at the closet preparing to dress _in_ them. 

Bucky doesn’t go for that straight away- instead, smooths the hem of Steve’s skirt _down_ his thighs rather than up them, continuing the path until he’s at the ends of his legs and can pull off his boots, then his socks, and kiss each of his ankles before settling down in between them on his knees at the end of the bed with his head tilted to rest on Steve’s thigh so he can look up at where he’s propped on his elbows with a soft smile. 

He still has his own shoes on, not to mention the rest of all their clothes- but Steve still feels like he’s been bared anyways with how Bucky’s staring at him, like he’s seeing him in his body and beneath it both. Bucky sees him for everything he is and has been- always has, always will. 

Looking back down at him, between the pink of Steve’s skirt and painted nails alike- Steve sees him too, damage and differences doing nothing to distract from the fact that this is _Bucky._ This is the love of Steve’s life. Not the Winter Soldier. Not Captain America. Those two personas are nowhere to be seen. In their bedroom, on this day- there’s no room or reason for them to be anyone else than themselves, because that’s who they each belong to. 

Bucky eventually snaps him out of his sappy little reverie by brushing his hand up to rub against his thigh. Steve blinks, then blushes at how intense the look Bucky’s giving him is, liner and shadow aside. 

Soon enough, Bucky’s brushing another kiss against each of his knees, humming when Steve’s heels dig into his sides. “You have a good time today?” he murmurs, mouth still against his skin. 

Steve sighs happily at the feeling of it. The answer comes out just as easy. “Everything was perfect, Buck.”

“Think _perfect_ is supposed to be my answer,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s leg softly again. “Considering that’s what you are to me.”

Steve tries not to slip into what Bucky calls his _aw, shucks_ move, but his shoulder still ducks and answer still comes out shy when he responds. “Sap.” Then, steadier, because this is always something he’s sure of, “I love you, Buck. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Before he knows it, Bucky’s crawling up from where he’s crouched on the floor and fitting his way to press Steve into their bed for a kiss, the exact place where Steve hoped they’d end today the night before. Happy and at home. 

All he can think while Bucky’s kissing him, though, is that nothing will _ever_ be more home than him. No matter what’s different, that never will be. 

The way Bucky looks at him when he pulls back- that’s the same as ever- stars in his eyes even with what else might be surrounding them. The affection in his voice when he replies is the same to- and so is how warm they make Steve feel both inside and out.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Stevie. I love you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this was one of my favorite things to write so i hope you liked it as well! i do have another valentine’s day piece coming out on the actual holiday but i simply could not wait for this one to be posted. 
> 
> comments & kudos are what keeps the content coming, so feel free to spare what you can! feedback is my favorite. as usual, i hope you enjoyed & this time will go show the amazing artist some love as well. stay safe & see you next time around. hopefully very soon for my valentine’s fics!


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